


The Fall of Gondor

by ladyofdurin



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdurin/pseuds/ladyofdurin
Summary: One of the daughters of the Great Wind Spirit Mesoventus, Turwaithiel, is cast into the fray of the reclamation of Osgiliath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is my first work on this website and I'm extremely excited and privileged to be sharing it with you all. I've been working on this story since February of 2018 and will be continuously posting more chapters as soon as possible.  
> Without further ado, enjoy!

The sky darkened over the city of Osgiliath, blotting out what was left of the weakened winter sun. The former capital of Gondor lay silent in its ruin, watching, waiting, wounded. What was once a prosperous and thriving city had become a wreck of violence and war from nearby Mordor, losing its power and stronghold as the last strongest kingdom in the West. Under the rule of the Steward Denethor II, the kingdom began its fatal fall.

 

“My beloved son!” Boromir heard the forcefully feigned glad words echo across the great hall as he entered through its wide doors. His father sat in his Steward’s chair, a large smile painted across his usually troubled features. He was wrapped tightly in his black fur robes, his grey hair unwashed and tangled. “There is much to do on this day- come hither to me.” Boromir remained quiet as he walked across the hall, his mind turning. He already knew what orders he would be receiving, and would be none too glad to hear them. He knelt down in front of the chair.

“Good morning, father.”

“My firstborn. I have summoned you for a favor. To take back Osgiliath and reclaim it as our own.”

“How many times now must this happen? We retake the city, but Mordor’s forces are far too strong-“

“Do you dare defy your father? The Captain of the White Tower should be a figure of responsibility and power, not one of doubt and question.” Boromir lowered his head and sighed. “You will summon the army of Minas Tirith and charge on Osgiliath in one hour’s time.”

“Shall I bring Faramir with me?”

“No, he shall stay here. He is not a worthy soldier to fight in battles such as these.” Boromir opened his mouth to object, but remained silent. Nothing he could say would change his father’s mind about his younger brother.

“Understood.” He began to walk out, and then paused. “Gondor will not fall.” Denethor said nothing, only watching as his favored son exited the hall, out to the dead, white tree of Minas Tirith.

*

The army was set on their horses, clad in the silver and white armor of Gondor, the tree proudly printed on their breastplates. They exited the gates of Minas Tirith, with trumpeting horns and cheers from the civilians. Osgiliath would be won again and hope would prevail. They charged; the only sound echoing in the air was galloping of hooves and the heartbeats of soldiers. The city was deserted upon entry and they stopped abruptly. Boromir raised his hand and signaled for his men to be silent as they dismounted. He knew that the city was not entirely abandoned; that orcs were waiting somewhere to ambush and kill off his men. He gripped his sword and his shield, and began to walk forward through the ruins.

A loud wail pierced the air suddenly, causing him to freeze. His men raised their bows and their swords and their shields in case of attack, but nothing approached. The wail sounded again. It was one of pain and fear, not one of malice and attack. Trying to locate the sound, Boromir walked again, searching under fallen pillars and caved-in houses and any other bits of rubble and wreck. Again, the wail. It was closer this time, to his left. He began to run towards the noise now, nearly forgetting that they were supposed to be quietly ambushing the city-

“SULMOG!” A raspy voice screamed, hidden somewhere in the darkness. Boromir had been right after all- the orcs were hiding. They jumped out of buildings, from behind rocks, off of pillars, out of the water.

“ARCHERS!” He bellowed, drawing his sword and running back behind the first line of soldiers. With a snap, his archers let their arrows fly, raining down and piercing many an orc. Yet they still approached, growling and snarling and stamping their feet. The archers shot again, and the Calvary joined with them. A gory, black bloodbath ensued as the soldiers of Gondor slashed and sliced their way through the waves of orcs. “OUR CITY WILL NOT FAIL!” Boromir screamed as he continued to fight. The wail sounded again, even louder, somehow rising above the noise of fighting. He cleared his way through the fight and ran towards the source. In a darkened corner, not far off from the battle, there lay an injured woman. She had been pierced in the side with a morgul shaft and was slowly bleeding out on the ground.

“Lransia, marde falythien,” she whispered in a language Boromir had never heard before in his life. He ran to her as she lifted her head. She had hair the color of a roaring fire, and eyes the color of the sky before a rainstorm. “Save thyself, o man. It is my purpose to perish here, at the beginning of the end of all things.” He had no idea what she was saying, so he lifted her off the ground.

“You are wounded, my lady!” He cried, running back through the battle as he carried her. “You will not die. My people will save you. You will mend!” He reached the horses and set her on his own, sending her back to Minas Tirith. “Ride back, and I will return!” He called after the mysterious woman, watching her figure grow smaller and smaller in the open fields. He turned back and rejoined his men in the battle.

*

When Turwaithiel awoke, the first thing she saw was a pair of darkened blue eyes gazing anxiously upon her from above. She blinked and tried to sit up, hissing when a sharp pain stabbed her in the side. She looked down to see her torso wrapped in bandages, but otherwise clean and healed.

“Shot by a morgul shaft, my lady.” She looked up to see the man with the dark blue eyes speaking to her.

“I do not know that word,” she said softly. “Where am I, and what has happened?”

“I found you, wounded in the ruins of Osgiliath. You are in the houses of healing, in the city of Minas Tirith.”

“The White City,” she whispered. “It is true, then. This is where it begins.” Boromir frowned. This woman had said the same when he had first found her.

“I do not know what you speak of,” he said a bit gruffly. “Tell me who you are.”

“I am Turwaithiel, daughter of Mesoventus, Wind of Middle Earth.”

“The great Wind spirit? He has only come into the tales of old. He has never been seen.”

“I was sent by him to this place. To Gondor. For a purpose that I do not know of yet.”

“We have taken the city again. Osgiliath is ours once more.”

“For now,” she said abruptly. “For now it is yours.” Boromir sat beside her, perplexed.

“How do you know this?”

“The children of Mesoventus were given the gift of foresight upon entering into Middle Earth. There are four of us, scattered somewhere upon this terrain that is your land. My sister Solorfainiel and I are the eldest, while Valadhiel and Filegedhiel are the younger. I miss them greatly. Something has changed, and will never be the same again. This Age is nearly at its end.”

“What do you see? What will happen to Gondor?”

“I see the end of all things. The city- this city, will be overtaken. Somehow it falls, beginning with the actions of one man. He sits in a chair in a great white hall, brooding.”

“This man- this is my father you speak of! You must tell him everything you know, Turwaithiel.”

“He will not listen, I am sure of it.”

“Please, you must go to him. No one enters this city without his knowledge or his counsel- even though I do not agree with it, perhaps.” He paused. “My father is Denethor II, son of Ecthelion, the Steward of Gondor. He has ruled over this land for many a year now. I fear he is beginning to lose his mind.”

“And who are you, brave soldier of Gondor? You have not yet spoken your name.”

“I am Boromir, firstborn son of the Steward, Captain of the guard. It is my duty to protect these lands from the forces of evil that lay so near to us.” He stood, extending his hand. “Come with me, my lady. I will take you to speak with him now.”

***

“Father, I have brought someone to see you. I believe she may help in the future of this city.” Boromir’s voice echoed across the great hall to the Steward. He raised his head, staring coldly at Turwaithiel with darkened, bloodshot eyes.

“Your honor,” she said softly and curtsied in front of him. “I am a bearer of grim news, but your captain has convinced me to speak of it to you.”

“Go on then,” he said monotonously.

“I am Turwaithiel, daughter of Mesoventus, the Great Wind of Middle Earth.”

“Only a legend, he is not real!” Turwaithiel shut her eyes.

“I come to you to say that your city, Minas Tirith of Gondor, will fail.”

“And how do you know this?” Denethor snapped rudely. “Do you conspire with the orc scum who invade our borders, or perhaps the Dark Lord Sauron himself?!”

“Neither, my lord. I can only say that I have seen it in my mind. Before it has happened. But I fear that it will come to pass in the near future beyond these days-“

“Nonsense!” Denethor shouted, rising from his chair. “You pose a threat on our city by speaking these false words of doom. You plan to attack our city and take it for your own or for other servants of evil!”

“Father, she does not lie! I found her in Osgiliath-“

“Enough with you, Boromir! It is clear to me that your heart has overruled your head. Begone from my sight, woman. You are henceforth banished from the White City, under penalty of death!” Boromir hurriedly turned her around and rushed her out of the hall as Denethor shouted more words of threat and curse. They stood outside of the closed doors, looking silently over the walls, into the shadow and flames of Mordor, that lay so close to them.

“I feared he would not listen to me,” Turwaithiel said sadly. “This is the beginning of his downfall. Now I am of no help, as I cannot stay here any longer.”

“You will stay here, my lady.” Boromir said quietly.

“Have I misheard you, soldier? I am not allowed in this kingdom. I will die if he finds me.”

“You will stay under my protection. I will keep you hidden in these walls, and you will be safe. You have my word.” She looked at him, perplexed. “No one will know who you are, or where you are.”

“I trust your word,” she said softly. “Show me where I must go.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turwaithiel is hidden in the depths of Minas Tirith, but doesn't go unnoticed..

The seven levels of Minas Tirith held many secrets; and its newest addition was something to behold for many an eye. Although they tried to remain unseen as Boromir led Turwaithiel to the servants’ chambers on the fourth level, the tower guards peered suspiciously and whispered amongst one another.

Boromir sighed, frustrated with the people of his city. He believed it ludicrous for this innocent woman to be banished for her words of wisdom and advice to his stubborn father when all she wished for was to help. And now all of the guards of the seven levels of the city would be instructed to keep a watchful eye for this treacherous being, as well as on the Captain of the guard himself for his foolish actions. Yet he had made a vow to protect her, to keep her out of sight and under his protection in fear of what his father would do; and he would not consider his promise lightly. 

Finally reaching the servants’ chambers, he opened the door and peered cautiously around. The room they had entered upon looked deserted, as if someone had not occupied it for a good many years. While simple and humble-looking as the lower status classes were accustomed to, Turwaithiel found the room to be quite elegant. As used in most other spaces in the entire city, the room was walled with a greyish-white marble stone, accented with curled patterns of dark ebony spiraling up towards the ceiling. A low bed crafted with mahogany wood rested in one corner with a small bedside table; no other pieces of furniture or decoration remained.

“Are these quarters suitable for you, my lady?” Boromir asked in a hushed whisper. Turwaithiel nodded. “You must join the other servants of this level, so that you may be mistaken for one of them. It is not a difficult task, if my memory serves me correctly.” He took one more sweeping look around, and was about to walk out of the door when Turwaithiel finally spoke softly.

“This is it, then? You will just leave me here to serve the cruel people of this city while you continue to go about your righteous business in the levels above?” He stopped in his tracks, a feeling of overwhelming sadness rushing through him. He rushed over to her, pleading.

“My lady, I have promised you that I will keep you safe, under my protection. I will not neglect you here, nor forget about your whereabouts and your doings. I will do everything in my power to visit you every day henceforth. My wish for you is the exact opposite of what you must think; I do not want for you to be alone and helpless in this place.” He paused, formulating his following words. “My father is not a forgiving man, as you already have seen. I would fear greatly if he discovered you; but there are some here, I would believe, who value your presence and being.”

She noticed that he turned away when he spoke these final words, out of embarrassment or shame or other emotions she could not detect. Her sadness slightly lessened at his concern, and she smiled faintly.

“My lord, thank you for your generosity and kindness. It has been proven to me that there still exist some noble men left on this earth. I will not fail you.” A distant horn sounded and broke apart their intense moment. 

“I must return to my duties,” Boromir spoke softly. He took her hand in his and kissed it lightly, giving one last glance to the strange woman before he exited. He was abruptly greeted by two young soldiers standing guard nearby, who had seen him enter into the deserted quarters. “I assume my father has warned you of the dangers of the mysterious woman who entered upon our city,” he started. “She is not what she seems. I implore both of you to trust my word, and to act as if what you have seen never happened.”   
The two soldiers looked at their captain, aghast. 

“You would dare to defy your father’s orders? Boromir, this is not a wise choice.” Quickly looking around, he delved into the pockets of his surcoat and produced a handful of shimmering coins.

“I shall pay you to keep quiet about what you have seen. You must not speak of this to anyone, not even to yourselves. You must look at her now as a servant of this city and nothing more. Am I understood?” The soldiers nodded, stuffing their newfound earnings into their pockets.

“You have our word.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turwaithiel begins her life as a servant of Gondor, and learns a valuable lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this week because the last one was short and I thought everyone should deserve some extra material. Enjoy!

And so Turwaithiel’s life became that of a servant of the city of Gondor, her duties simple and straightforward. She had been assigned by the elder servants to wash and mend the garments of the soldiers in the higher levels, and to deliver these linens to their chambers each morning.

On one such morning, Turwaithiel cautiously approached the utmost chambers of the city- herein lay the quarters of Denethor and his two sons, Boromir and Faramir. She now knew that she would have to proceed with much caution as not to be seen or recognized by the cruel steward; fortunately for her sake he was always plodding about in the great hall of the absent king, brooding over the worries of the world. She took great care not to linger in his rooms, but preferred to stay longer in the sons’ chambers.   
Boromir’s quarters were astonishing to her- although not extravagantly clean due to his messy tendencies. His bedroom was almost kingly, with an enormous four post bed with scarlet and indigo drapes covering each side. On his walls were hung many well-worn suits of armour that had seen countless victories in battle, and on tables lay his old weapons. The mighty horn of Gondor was hung carefully near his bedside, his most beloved possession. Placing his clothes on the bed, she glanced around once more to see if she was truly alone. Walking towards the horn, she delicately picked it up, feeling its smooth ivory texture- when suddenly there were loud footsteps entering into the chamber.

“Who is there?” A voice bellowed. The horn clattered to the floor as Turwaithiel dropped to her knees, facing the wall with her head down. The footsteps entered the room and a sword was drawn. “Reveal yourself!” She stood slowly, turning around to face- she wondered if she looked as shocked as Boromir did standing opposite her, his sword ready to strike.

“I am sorry for intruding, my lord,” she said quietly. He stared at her for a moment and blinked.

“I could have killed you..” He trailed off. “That was not my intent.” He looked at her once more, scared and small and vulnerable there in his room, when a new thought entered his mind. “You have powers, my lady, but you must also learn to fight and defend yourself as a soldier does.”

“Then you must teach me, man of Gondor.” Turwaithiel smiled finally, a light twinkling in her eye.

“First, y-you must learn to defend,” he said a bit shakily, clearing his throat. “You must try and block my every attack with this shield. And then progress onto the fighting itself at a later time. Here, take this.” Boromir handed her his prized, battle-worn shield. It was sturdy, wooden, and round, bound with leather hand straps and rimmed in shimmering silver. Turwaithiel gripped it in her hands, noticing how great its weight was.

“Now a soldier would have both this shield, and his sword in his hands,” Boromir stated. “But first you will learn to block. Be prepared.” He backed up, raising his sword and bringing it down will full force. Turwaithiel raised the shield, blocking her face. The sword came down with a loud crash. “Very good,” he said, smiling a little. “But it will not always be as easy or as expected-” he lunged forward with the sword, taking Turwaithiel off guard. He stopped short, pulling his sword back. “With that move, you would have been wounded. Try again, and pay more attention.”

“It is not easy with such a skilled swordsman,” she complimented, as she raised the shield again, blocking another move. As Boromir lunged with his sword and Turwaithiel blocked with the shield, they moved back and forth across the room with quick and calculated steps. She was no match for all the years of war and battles he had endured, and she was soon overcome by his quickness and strength. They were locked in a position; she raising the shield up to deflect his sword, he forcing his sword down as to disable her defense.  
They remained that way, eyes locked on each other, almost palpable tension crackling in the air.

“You learn well,” he said finally, still gazing.

“There is so much more I have to know,” Turwaithiel said, almost shamefully, breaking the gaze. “There is no way I could ever match your skills.” She felt a hand cup her face, being tilted up to look at the man across from her again. 

“Believe me, you will. I may not have such foresight as you do, or come from a magic world as you do, but I know in my heart that there is strength in you, lady of the wind.” He lowered his sword and placed it back in its sheath, and taking his other hand to gently hold both sides of her face. She trembled, still holding the shield like a barrier in front of her.

“I thank you for your words, soldier,” she whispered, looking up at him. He took his hand and lowered her shield, taking it and placing it on the ground. He looked at her once more before lowering his lips to hers to press a kiss on them. He held her in his great strong arms and expressed his love for her, as the morning brightened around them. She did not let go; only tightened her grip as they drew ever closer. Gasping for breath, she broke away from his kiss with alarm in her eyes.

“What troubles you, my lady?” he looked concerned as he still held her.

“Y-your father, what will occur if he discovers- if he uncovers t-this-“

“He need not know of this,” Boromir said gently. “He is blind to all that is good in this world. This will remain between you and I as our secret. We will share in this together- you have my word.”

“I trust in you, my captain.” She rose up to kiss him again and he welcomed her soft lips on his. “I will follow you unto my end.”


End file.
